


Stay With Me

by GrumpyQueer



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Addiction, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mimi Morton - Freeform, edmund reid - Freeform, ripper street - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyQueer/pseuds/GrumpyQueer
Summary: This is a quick little ficlet of Mimi / Edmund, set in canon, that I thought I would post here.Takes place approximately one year after the end of S5, and assumes that Mimi has gone and married the old chap in Richmond. Soon, however, she is called back to Whitechapel.Trigger warnings for alcohol addiction.No smut within.





	Stay With Me

The rumours had spread across Whitechapel, and far beyond. Chatter upon chatter upon chatter.   
  
It was inevitably not long at all until one of Mimi’s many friends and dear colleagues at _The Alexandria_ heard talk of the Inspector’s dire state, and sent a telegram promptly across London, to her door. Not long later, yet, and over in Richmond - a maid came scampering out into the bright sun, searching for Mimi down in the expansive gardens, amidst the stupendous estate she now called “home”.  
  
She had already made a fine ritual of remaining in the quaint, detached spaces, entirely removed from her elderly husband’s grande living quarters. It was a corner of serenity, just for her, where should could read unperturbed - reflect on memories past, rejuvenate, and drink herself into oblivion when the mood so called.  
  
Now, however, she was alerted by the sound of feet plodding down the garden path, and turned about to greet her visitor - dropping the book she was reading into her lap. “Madam”, the maid panted. “There is a telegram for you. Urgent, or so it says.”  
  
Mimi smiled softly and slid the note from the maid’s hands, relaxing back into her chair with that signature nonchalance.  
  
She breezed over the words, until noticing his name, squinting an eye as she revised the contents, and sucked back on her cigarette.  
  
“Hmm… _oh_ … oh dear.”  
  
Her hand raised to her mouth, and she rested the note upon her knee, staring up at the sky and wondering why on earth she was shocked. She _knew_ Whitechapel would find its way back to her somehow - that something would have need of her - whether it be her theatre, her longing to feel truly at home, or her desire to see Mr. Reid.  
  
Now, after many months of her absence, it seemed the latter had prevailed.  
  
Without any hesitation, she dusted down her dress, folded the telegram, and stood with ambition. ‘Please, I shall need a carriage arranged for this afternoon. It seems I am rather needed.”

  
  
***

  
  
In true fashion, the further that Mimi travelled East across London, the gloomier the weather became - the sun snuffing out behind dark tufts of gathering storm cloud.   
  
After her journey finally slowed into the usual hum drum of denser city and dwellings, she tapped on the roof of the carriage, signalling for her driver to stop.  
  
Best start here, in the thick of it all, she thought - knowing the Inspector was very much so a creature of habit.  
  
Climbing down from the carriage, her fine boots and tailored dress met the mud again, splattered afresh. Leman Street had remained remarkably unchanged; still stinking, still dilapidated. Still full of destitution, and the accompanying despair. Yet… somehow, never devoid of charm.  
  
She spun herself about to get her bearings, and planned her steps ahead. Straight into H-Division, it would be, full of all its bitter sweet memories - but the short-tempered new desk Sergeant informed her that the Inspector was not in, nor had he been seen reporting for duty. With a dismissive flick of his hand, he signalled her away, and returned to his paperwork.  
  
Off, then, to the Brown Bear, and every public house in that square mile thereafter, with Mimi ducking in and eagerly scanning about to try and catch sight of him. But all she seemed to catch was the eerie gaze of haggard old men with missing teeth, leering and winking in her direction. She rolled her eyes, turned back around, and headed on, unfazed by the increasing downpour.

Soon, after visiting all the likely jaunts, she seeked rest in an unfamiliar bar. It was poorly lit, and scarcely occupied, save for a small gathering of women playing cards, and a few lone figures scattered throughout.

After ordering a scotch - double shot - and lighting another cigarette, she tipped the young barmaid handsomely, and asked if she had seen the Inspector’s face as of late. The barmaid nodded as she went back to polishing an empty pint glass. “Of course, Miss. Visits often, he does. Served him a bottle near on an hour ago.”

Mimi finished her swig, and gulped quietly. “Ah… is that so?”

Taking her drink, she slowly moved between the tables, peering at the lone faces, until finally finding him at the very back, hiding in a dark corner and leaning up against a wall. His hunched over back was to her, and as she came closer, she discovered that he appeared to be asleep - or was simply out cold.

He _reeked_ of drink, as if he had been drenched to the very bone in it - the booze oozing out his pores, smelling sickly sweet.

She examined him there for a moment, pondering whether it best to rouse him, outstretching her hand and almost delivering a light shake to his shoulder, but deciding on letting him be.

Instead, she eased into the adjacent chair, sipping at her scotch and inquisitively studying his face, smiling ever so softly as he let out gentle snores.

It had not yet been a full year since Mimi had relocated to Richmond, but the Inspector looked like he had aged three. His whiskers had become far more grey, full as they were - and he looked as though he had not rested, nor eaten properly, at least, for many weeks.

If it weren’t for the rambunctious arrival of a group of drunken women a few moments later, Edmund surely would have remained slumped, dozing for hours in that very seat. The clinking of glasses, frivolous banter, and stomping of feet caused him to stir, barely opening his eyes to peer over his shoulder at the source of all that racquet.

When he turned back around and saw Mimi sitting there, right across from him, he froze, and swayed back and forth with his mouth slightly agape.

Mimi leaned close and put her hand over his. “I have been looking all over for you, I shall have you know.”

Trying to focus his double vision, he tilted his head like a confused puppy, and attempted to rest his head on his free hand, his elbow repeatedly slipping.

“Whaa-… Mimi? Are you… doing?” He struggled to speak, every movement languid, every syllable slurred. “What...”

“Yes - riveting conversation Inspector, but how about we get you home? I think you need some rest.”

His eyes were bloodshot, and glassy, still locked on her in disbelief.

She smiled, stood and scooped him up by the shoulders, forgetting for a moment just how big a man he was, letting his dead weight plonk back down into the seat.

“ _You_ , there!” Mimi commanded, pointing to an unsuspecting young man drinking alone at the bar. “I require some assistance in getting my friend home - only a few streets, mind you.” Taking out a guinea from her purse, she waved the note in front of the lad. “Rewarded accordingly. What do you say?”

Eagerly bouncing up from his seat, the lad followed Mimi’s orders without hesitation, taking the most of Reid’s weight, the two of them carting him forth. 

 

***

 

When Edmund came to the next morning, he found himself upon his lounge, wrapped in a thick blanket.

Near the fireplace, sat his work boots - his bowler dangling from a nearby chair. He watched the diminishing flames for a moment, before leaning up and looking about to see if he were alone - his head spinning wildly, splitting with last night’s sin.

Faintly, he could hear the sound of water bubbling in the kitchen, and Mimi’s voice quietly humming what sounded like a show-tune. The air held the scent of a hot, greasy breakfast, and just as he began to pull himself upright, Mimi came in carrying a tray of bacon, toast and tea. She was cheerful, and upbeat.

‘Good morning, you.”

He nodded at her entrance, diligently avoiding her gaze. “I am... truly sorry, Mimi. It is humiliating for you, of all people, to see me in such an appalling state.”

“Oh _please_ , Mr. Reid. You are forgetting that I called Whitechapel home, once. Matters of over-indulgence and debauchery are certainly not new to me.”

“Well… indeed, I suppose, but… ”, he straightened himself out, stretching involuntarily, still looking away from her. “You did not have to come here to rescue me. There truly is no need for your concern.”

Mimi looked at him incredulously as she bent down to pour his tea, trying to catch his gaze. She could not help think how handsome he appeared, despite his evident lack of self care. “That is not what I hear, at all, Inspector. I have heard that there is great cause for concern. Half of Whitechapel speaks of it, in fact.”

He sighed, clearly irate. “Well - what does it matter to _you_ , regardless? Don’t you have a husband of your own to worry about, in some fanfical estate?”

The harshness of his words shocked her, reminding her of just how blunt he had been early on when hiding in her playhouse. She paused and stared at him, thoroughly unimpressed with such snarkiness. 

Finally, he looked back, and she recognised it immediately - the hurt of that night she left, the very same look, still there in his eyes.

“How is your marriage, if I may so enquire?”

Bitterness dripped from his tongue. She knew what he was doing, but remained open to him, despite it.

“It is… loveless, if truth be told. Loveless, and empty.”

“And so you are here, to tend to me? To... fill the void in your life, now that that has fizzled itself out?”

“ _No_ \- rather, I am checking in on a dear friend who I have been told was drinking himself to death, and refusing rehabilitation of any kind. What would _you_ have me do, Edmund? Leave you be?”

“ _I_ would have you do nothing. I do not require your help.” He delivered back curtly, shaking his head.

Finally, she snapped, slamming down her tea cup. “Why on earth are you being so vile? I have not seen you in months - near on a year - Edmund, and _this_ is how you greet me? How foolish of me to remember you as having manners, and decency. Goodness, I commended you so highly the last time we saw one another. I thought you noble, and brave, and-”

“ _Noble_? For _what_ , Mimi?” Edmund’s voice carried, raising it to meet hers. “For being banished to Whitechapel for the rest of my days whilst I watch everyone dear to me leave?”

“No… _no!_ ” She leapt to her feet, pointing at him accusingly, cigarette in hand. "How _dare_ you act as if I cut you out of my life, Edmund Reid. How many letters I have sent you over the past year - letters you have not responded to _once_.”

Edmund paused, mouth moving slightly as if about to bring forth rebuttal, then suddenly becoming sheepish, sinking deep back in to the lounge chair. Out of one eye, he watched her deliberate on the spot whether to sit back down, huffing and puffing, until taking her seat and stabbing at the bacon on her plate. 

“Please _eat_ , for goodness sakes, Inspector, before you positively pickle yourself. You cannot survive on barrels of whiskey and the odd biscuit at the station-house. It is beyond me why I have to tell this to a grown man.”

He peered down, nodded in agreeance and quietly ate his breakfast, trying to make very little sound.

“I… I am so sorry, Mimi. Please, forgive me. It is wrong of me to blame you in anyway for my personal matters, when all I should be doing, is giving you all of my thanks.”

Now, it was she who avoided his meeting his eye, fiddling with her cigarette case and gazing out the window - all fogged up with condensation. 

“Why did you not write to me? I longed to see you, Edmund, and yet… nothing. Not a single word. If _anyone_ ought to be mad, and be feeling abandoned…” Her voice quavered, eyes blurring with tears. “You treated me as if I had died with Jackson, too - you forced me to grieve the both of you.”

There was a long silence, interrupted by sniffles.

When she looked over toward him, he was staring at his hands, head low and trying to conceal his tears. The sight still managed to sink her heart. It was entirely against her nature to not offer comfort - to not reach out and console.

Quickly, she came to be by his side, pulling him close as he sobbed into her shoulder and whispered more apologies. They took each other's hand. 

“Rather ironic, is it not?” Mimi asked, wiping a tear from his cheek, and then her own. “The both of us, feeling so pushed away. So at odds, and alone.”

“How I wish I had done things differently, Mimi, and not caused you such pain and fuss."  
  
She chuckled, and kissed him gently on the forehead. "I do seem to have a dreadful habit of falling in love with men who cause me _far_ too much trouble, yet... it is not more trouble than it is worth."

Her soft, delicate voice, and that sentence, repeated in Edmund’s mind.

He pulled back and looked upon her, suddenly - _finally_ \- realising the depth of how daft he had really been. How much of her heart she constantly wore on her sleeve for him to see, and, in contrast, how much of a coward he were, for fleeing from vulnerability at the expense of something as rare, and sacred, as love.

Why was he digging a grave for himself, when he so clearly had someone he loved, to live for? 

In realising the error of his ways, he also realised the necessity for urgency to declare, with precision, the truth.

Without wasting another moment, he eased himself up from her shoulder, and slowly traced his stubble along her jawline. She closed her eyes and sighed with longing, opening her mouth in expectation as he kissed her bottom lip.

“Stay with me”, he whispered, heat and desire on his breath. “I should have said it to you then, but I am saying it now: Mimi, _please stay._ ”

She returned each and every kiss. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading.


End file.
